Parallel Genesis
by Sixth Limb of Sephiroth
Summary: Oneshot on a whim. There's more than one way to slice a Genesis.


_**Parallel Genesis**_

"'I saw there standing a solitary angel, with his arms pointed to heaven.'"

He wouldn't go away. His pretty lips hadn't even spouted so much as a hello when he had first appeared. And now, he stood here with me, in the midst of a poetry recital. It was a silky noise I could have more than done without. But, like any man with a just tongue, he wouldn't be stopped until the very end. He'd preach on his rosary of angel feathers, in hopes of stripping away the fires of pride.

But, I wouldn't be that boy again.

"'He was clothed in a shadow, with a star on his head, and his face was the moon on a black night.'"

"Hmph…"

"'When he cried out, the earth shook with a roaring fury and the skies uttered in turn with voices of thunder.'"

I was jealous. He wore threads far cuts above anything I'd ever wear, being a soldier. If one had the robes of a king, it was he. If one had the President's dark, commanding coat, it was he. The shoes and pants of modern day nobles. He was a man with sad golden eyes, this man who faced me now, smelling like flowers, real flowers, not acid colognes made to smell just like them. Just what did he seek? I only tolerated his company so far because he looked a worthy foe on another boring day.

So much for dependable Shinra security.

As I stood here now in the training room, I never knew that I'd be gently accosted by this quiet intruder. Although, not so quiet now, as he spoke his eloquent words.

"'When the skies uttered their thunder, I had turned to flee but heard a hard silence speak. _Seal the fear within your heart and remember that which the thunder shall say. And were your desires to scribe this moment, do so without fear and need for all to hear._'"

"You're such a smooth talker," I said, chuckling.

He had only smiled. Did he, in that instant, send chills down even my tempered spine? I had long prided myself in the fear and respect I wrenched from all who laid eyes on me. But could I have met my match? My mirror self in such a humble setting as this slim-bodied thing before me? I gripped my sword hard, waiting for that moment, the moment where I could strike him down and be done with it. My sword longed for this chatty throat.

"'Then the angel, standing at the edge of heaven, earth and sea, raised a sole finger and swore upon himself who lives forever and ever under the heavens and all things in it, on the earth and all things on it, before the sea and all things in it, that there will be no more delay.'"

His loafered feet shuffled closer, that smell of flowers growing stronger. His golden eyes turned dull in his pale-faced head, and fingers whiter than mine wiggled up to his short, pink hair. Pink. I wanted to laugh, laugh as I never laughed before. What man would ever leave his home with pink hair?

"Lavender."

"Hmm?"

"'For the shadowy angel, the clouds did part to reveal night sky, and the thunder of voices was done, as they had declared commandment unto him.

"'The hard voice spoke again in fire and defiance at the heavens. _Come to me, you all with tiny eyes and ears. Come to me, this mighty angel whom you see before you, standing at the raging sea."_

"Apologies," I remarked thoughtlessly. "Poetry never did interest me."

The man had smiled yet again. It was perfect, and at the same time, sad. Everything about him was regal, yet still sad. I felt it gave me an edge. Where he dressed like a king, it was I who stood with one's power. I would win over this mirror. I'd make him go away.

"How about a little swordplay?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

He folded his arms in each other. The way he moved feigned disinterest but his oh so tender eyes flashed with life. Now this was bravado in the face of a potential foe. I'd actually heard and felt myself laugh as I raised my sword, the tip to his face. It wasn't exactly a time to kill, since he proved less than menacing, less than threatening, but how I would've loved to carve that smile out of his translucent face.

"'_My shout to heaven must be known._'"

I shrugged. More poetry. But then to my subtle surprise, his hand moved just beneath my blade, his fingers curling in that come-hither fashion. Was he asking for a sword? Or was he asking for me? I appreciated the gesture but I'd rather fight than get friendly. Why? Because I just detested the latter.

The man chuckled adversely, dropping his hand as though the chance to fulfill his gesture had passed. "'_Take these words and consume them with your heart. Your stomach will be as bitter; but they will taste as honey in your mouth when you whisper to your memory and your heart._'"

I clenched the hilt of my sword tighter, drawing the blade against the right side of his face. His faded pink hair fell more heavily on that side than the left. Like the hair of a rebellious teen. But he looked no older than I was.

"'_Preach my word to the kings, to the people, to the lands themselves. I will rage against heaven, tear down its gates for the birthright stolen from me. I am a monarch of men. But the gods stripped me of my majesty, my name, my pride and doomed me to the barren earth, to ponder my sin. But I sin not._'"

I rolled my eyes and sighed. This man was virtually a statue poised before me, his lips moving only to speak his precious poetry. I grew bored. He didn't even seem worth fighting anymore, even if he agreed to such. Feeling unusually defeated, I lowered my sword.

But in doing so, the man ventured closer. I lifted a warning finger but apparently, it wasn't enough.

"'_Now I will fight my creators, and I will slay them. The only angel to rebel for sovereignty. Hear me, the gods will fall at my hands, at the hands of the one true king, and though the heavens may cry and bellow my end, I will not succumb. The shadows as my army, I shall rise to my throne. Hear me, for this is my declaration to the vault which ousted me. I am the angel of shadows. And I am coming…_'"

My eyes grew wide. Did my ears deceive me? Did this man really sound like he was done singing his nonsense? I had to ask to be sure.

"Are you done?"

"Yes, I am done," he said.

I scoffed. Preaching, he sounded so strong. I thought I'd met my match. But now, his voice was so frail, modest as a beaten child's. Was this man just a boy in some man's shoes? Although I had to admit he knew his way around literature, however unknown it sounded to me. But he failed to live up to his kingly clothes, his robustly meaningless poem. He was sad, plain and simple.

"Your mouth says nothing but your eyes speak magnitudes," whispered the man. "Yes, I am sad, very sad. Such a word does not even skim the surface. Are you?"

"I can't even dignify that with a response," I said, scowling and tossing locks of hair from my cheek.

As he took another step nearer, I took one back, exhaustedly shrugging at his advance. He'd risk having me annoyed? I wasn't good company in annoyance. And this man, who didn't even lift more than a finger, tried my nerves far easily over the entire company's personnel on a day where everything goes wrong. I wondered why I stood there and suffered him as long as I did. Perhaps I was curious. But now, even curiosity wasn't enough to keep me bound in place.

I stalked towards the door, dragging my blade carelessly across the floor. Someone would fix the damage later.

"Sad one, lonely one, will you be my comrade-in-arms? Will you be my other wing? Or will you sit in your egg of iron, hero babe, yearning for birth that will not come?"

There was that moment of weakness, that break in composure, where only one thing could quell the pain, and that lingering lust. I turned, seething, on the verge. In this building, no one would sound the alarm over a dead body. Given the Science Department's favorite monster, bodies were sometimes carted out by the dozens. Soldier failures, monsters by the twos, threes, or fours, prisoners of war, and unlucky slum rats. No faces, just bodies.

"Maybe he'd like a little gift…"

That man stood there, waiting, waiting for something of which I couldn't have cared less.

He asked for it. He was going to get it. Very well.

He grimaced, he winced.

But he didn't move.

He made no move for the blade lodged in his chest, even as he bled fresh over his fine black and red clothes and black loafered feet. I twisted my blade in a delicate little circle, watching threads curl back from the bloody hole. There seemed no effect on the salt-white man. I shrugged, not quite surprised but dismayed. Who and what was this man to just stand and take a strike from me? Another of the Science Department's guinea pigs? He had to be. There was no other explanation. That, he was.

"No more a guinea pig than you and the rest. But you really should work on your temper."

"Hmph."

"Oh you are no fun at all. Not even a good conversationalist. Another wing you would not make."

Those satiny, extravagant clothes fell towards the floor on the tip of my sword, robe and waistcoat and slacks upon shoes, bloody but empty.

I'd never been caught in a daze before. In all my years as a Shinra child, where all the men and women under this towering roof strove for the unthinkable, and at times, the abominable, I took all I saw in stride. But now… The best I could do was pretend; believe that none of this had ever happened. Someone would clean up this mess, hide it, burn it, forget about it but not entirely. If I'd forgotten, someone would be nice enough to remember for me. They'd remember and seek him out. And then, it would've happened, after all. The nonexistent man that speaks and bleeds like a flower.


End file.
